Chapter Forty-Five And the Winner Is…
Chapter Forty-Five
And the Winner Is…
Griffin
Seven months later
“Griffin! Griffin! An interview!”
I clutch Beverly’s hand and pull Ava up onto my hip as we pace across the red carpet to a roped-off area with reporters. A woman beaming from ear to ear looks nice enough, so I gravitate toward her.
“Thank you so, so much. Okay.” She twists with a flourish toward a camera behind her. “We are here with Griffin Harvey, five-time Grammy Award winner, who is nominated yet again tonight.” She twirls back to us. “How does that feel?”
“Good,” I answer. Beverly nudges me, and I chuckle. “Very good.”
“A man of not many words.”
I huff out a laugh. “I’m honored. Truly.”
“He’s happy,” Ava chimes in, leaning toward the microphone.
“Oh?” The interviewer laughs. “Well, the internet is still talking about your tour. And I am so excited to finally meet the woman who inspired Bird in Hand! Beverly is here with you. So…how is all this going?”
Beverly and I exchange a look, then both laugh.
“We, uh, we’re still long distance sometimes,” I say. “Yeah, but we make it work.”
It’s been a whirlwind few months. Our second tour lasted four months, and I spent every minute thinking about Beverly.
Around halfway through, filming for the new season of Birds on the Block ended, and she surprised me by flying out to our city.
We spent the next couple of months floating from place to place, touring new destinations, and jumping between monuments and national parks.
Occasionally she and Ava would sit backstage, so I could look over and see my daughter with her massive pink earmuffs bouncing up and down on Beverly’s lap with a giggling grin.
I stroke my thumb over Beverly’s hand. For once her nail polish is not chipped away from stress. All of us are getting more sleep nowadays.
“We’re actually traveling together next summer,” I say. “ ‘Bernie Goes Abroad!’ is making a comeback, so I’m taking a small hiatus, and we’ll be in Europe for a couple months.”
The interviewer gasps. “Is that after you write a third album?” She crosses her fingers and squeals.
I chuckle. “Yes.”
“Okay, let’s talk about that for a second. You’re at the peak of your career—”
“Christ, I hope not.”
“Sorry, you’re doing very well, yet you’re cutting back a bit. You’ve said there will be no tour until after the next album releases. Why?”
I smile at Ava. “I want to spend more time with my girls.”
The interviewer almost collapses on the spot. “That is so precious.” She sighs wistfully. “Wow. Well, good luck. And thank you so much for speaking with me.”
I walk away with Beverly’s hand in mine and Ava squirming in my arms.
“She’s nice,” Ava says.
“You’re also getting nicer, GP,” Beverly whispers.
I chuckle. “Only for you two.”
We walk up the stairs and into the cool building.
We’re escorted to our table, and Ava makes a beeline for the guys once she spots them.
Poe scoots out her chair. She hops on and kicks her feet back and forth under her poofy skirt with the ribbon tied around the waist. An even bigger one sits in her hair.
Young children aren’t exactly permitted at award ceremonies unless they’re nominated themselves, but Jimmy found a loophole since Ava was technically featured on the album.
Poe grabs Beverly’s hands in his. “Beverly, darling, gorgeous as ever.”
“Back off, you,” I say with a grin, taking Beverly’s hands in mine again.
Shimmering back is the engagement ring I gave her just a few months prior, when we were looking up at the northern lights, and beside that is the accompanying wedding ring I slid on her finger at the Grand Canyon. Under the stars, like I promised.
We order drinks before the ceremony starts, and Jimmy stops by our table to warn us about taking shots. Poe knocks one back in protest. Royce does, too, in solidarity.
Finally, the show begins. The comedian host comes out, cracks a few jokes about recent scandals and music videos—some land, some don’t, but overall, I’ve experienced worse. Eventually, the nominations begin, and my fist tightens under the table.
Teagan, an artist renowned for her crooning voice and equally anxiety-inducing buildup, presents the first of the final four awards.
Fitting. She stands onstage in a flowing dress that I could see Beverly pulling off.
There’s a small speech introducing herself, the weight of this first award, and finally—
“And the nominees for Song of the Year are…”
Beverly’s hand disappears under the table, and she links her fingers through mine.
We’re nominated in a few categories for our album Bird in Hand. Record of the Year and Album of the Year are up for grabs, but this first category is a good litmus test for how the rest of the ceremony will go. Plus, it’s for my favorite song on the album.
Windows of faces appear on the large screen on either side of the stage, highlighting all five nominees.
I’m sitting among some very deserving artists: a country icon, a punk rock band new on the scene but making waves, a pop star who goes viral for her lavish and impressive concerts, and then… Beau.
He’s looking worse for wear nowadays. His skin is sallow, his eyes perpetually heavy, and his hair messier than what is aesthetically appealing, even to his younger audience.
His suit looks like it wasn’t ironed, and he’s slouching in his chair, like he couldn’t be bothered to be here in the first place.
He’s gone viral a couple of times in the past few months for inappropriate interviews.
He doubled down online. Then he got caught closing a car door in his girlfriend’s face, and the internet is still talking about that one. Tonight, he’s attending alone.
Beau shifts in his seat, tonguing his cheek, giving a halfhearted smile when they call out the nomination for his new single, “Lost Without You.” It’s a fine song, and it plays everywhere.
But some of the bigger reviews have said things like “strange, unstable, noise” and “The notes must be the ones lost, and I’m not sure they’re ever coming back. ” Who am I to judge, though?
“And the Grammy goes to…”
Teagan tucks her long fingernail into the corner of the envelope and tugs out the sheet with the winner’s name. Beverly’s hand squeezes mine tighter. Ava kicks her feet out, bouncing in her seat.
Then Beverly leans in, whispering into my ear, “You’ve got this. Okay?”
I nod and squeeze her palm. “Okay.”
I believe you.
I’ve learned over the last year that Beverly is never wrong.
The envelope cracks open in the microphone. The paper crinkles. There’s a breathy inhale and then…
“ ‘Love Felt Like This’ by Griffin Harvey!”
My chest collapses, my ears ring, and I’m bombarded by screams. Ava, seeing everyone else excited, throws her hands in the air.
I bend down and swing her into my arms, placing kiss after kiss over her cheeks and forehead.
Over her bangs, just like her mother’s, and onto her nose until she giggles and pushes my face away. The crowd laughs as I set her down.
I twist on the spot to grab Beverly, but she slams her mouth to mine before I can do it first, clutching my cheeks in her palms and holding me still. All the energy, the buzz of excitement, settles in my chest as she keeps me grounded.
She pulls away and leans her forehead to mine. “I love you.”
“I love you,” I echo back.
I inhale, she adjusts my suit lapel, and I turn to walk toward the stage. Poe, Royce, and Dom clap, but I reach out and grab Dom’s forearm and tug. “Come on.” Chuckling, he does the same to Royce, who does the same to Poe. And in single file, all four of us walk toward the stage.
We ascend the steps, and Teagan leans in, placing a chaste kiss to my cheek before handing me the award. I approach the mic as cheers continue, clutching the award and looking out at the crowd, where Beverly now holds Ava on her hip. Both wave to me.
“Thank you,” I say. My voice echoes through the speakers.
“Thank you so much. I want to start by thanking these three men behind me.” I turn and gesture.
Poe bows dramatically. The other two shake their heads with a laugh.
“They’re the true heart of this music. My best friends.
Uncles to my daughter. They’re the Band-Aids that piece me together after each album, and I can’t imagine writing, touring, and recording without them.
“Thank you to Jimmy, my manager, for being very patient with this record and understanding what these songs mean to me. Or at least not saying no when I insisted on being the piano guy. Told you so, by the way.” The audience laughs at the same time one bubbles out of me.
I can picture him somewhere in the room, rolling his eyes with a smile.
“I’d like to thank Nancy, Dom’s daughter, who traveled the world with us to watch over my little girl. Thank you for letting me live my dream while keeping my other one safe.”
Dom leans in and says, “You’re welcome for the free vacation, sweetheart.”
I can feel my growing smile reaching my eyes. The sting behind my nose. And when I smile out to the two people who carry my heart, I shake my head in disbelief.
“And though she won’t remember this, thank you to Ava. You’re my best girl. You make me a better dad and a better man.”
I inhale, exhale, and take in the woman holding her. The woman giving the goofiest thumbs-up in return.
“And finally, to my beautiful wife, Beverly Alice Lark. My soulmate. My puppet girl, who creates happiness I didn’t know was possible. Who believed in me from the moment we met, even though she had every reason not to.”
A gentle violin starts to play over the speakers, but I shake my head. “No, I’m still going. Hold on.”
There are murmurs of chuckles, and the music lightens up a little, but they’re ready for me to leave. I won’t, though. Because this is about her—not me. And this play-off music won’t cut me off when she deserves every single word I have to give.
“Beverly, you are the softest person I know and the strongest. You’ve always been so sure of yourself and your purpose.
And I know now that you’re my purpose. You’re the reason I make music.
I belong to you every second of my life and every moment beyond.
” I lift the award. “This one’s for you, B. I love you.”
The violins rise in volume. Clapping ensues. But I only see my girls cheering back.
I have a feeling that I’ll be seeing this sight many more times tonight. And I’ll thank them for loving me every single time.